The Comforting Arms of God

Last night, I read To Heaven and Back: A Doctor's Extraordinary Account of Her Death, Heaven, Angels, and Life Again by Mary C. Neal, M.D.  Dr. Neal and her husband had gone to Chile with some friends for a kayaking vacation.  Her husband, not feeling well the morning of her accident, had decided to wait for the party at the out-take area.  In the meantime, one of the kayakers had gotten into trouble at a waterfall, her craft being hung up on one of the boulders half-way down.  Immediately afterwards, Mary's kayak hit the waterfall and lodged itself under the other boat, face down, with the full course of rushing waters falling over her head and shoulders.  Pinned in her boat, she could not release herself because of the force of the falling water, nor could she release her boat from under the other one.

Knowing she was about to die, she turned to God, asking only that His will be done.  Immediately, she was "overcome with an absolute feeling of calm, peace, and of the very physical sensation of being held in someone's arms while being stroked and comforted.  I felt like I imagine a baby must feel when being lovingly caressed and rocked in his mother's bosom.  I also experienced an absolute certainty that everything would be okay, regardless of the outcome" (p.56).

Reading those words last night brought me back to the moment in late January 2010, when I was standing in my back yard surveying the freeze damage and pondering the work I would have to do that spring to restore the yard.  Suddenly, it was as if a bubble of peace softly descended around my entire body, and I knew for certain that I would not be doing that yard work.  At the time, I thought that meant I was going to die, and my very calm response was, "All right; just give me time to clean out the attic and the clutter so my husband and children will not have to do it."  Immediately, I went inside and started emptying boxes from the attic. 

That incredible peace remained with me throughout the next few months, when I subsequently found out that I had lung cancer, when the surgeon sent me home to die because there was nothing he could do, when he changed his mind at the insistence of the pulmonologist and performed surgery, and when I was in recovery.  I was going through the motions, but nothing disturbed my peace during the entire time.  When the pulmonologist first announced that he thought it was cancer, I said, "Okay."  A few moments later, he said again, "I think this is cancer."  "Okay," I said again.  "Aren't you upset by that?" he asked.  "No," I said, "but my husband will be." 

Like Mary Neal, somehow I knew that whatever happened, I would be okay.  I had the same experience she had of the soothing, comforting, resting-in-the-arms of God peacefulness.  There was nothing that frightened or upset me during the whole time, even when the surgeon told me on the way into the operating room that "the best time to die is during surgery, because you are not aware of what's happening."  I laughed and told him not to tell that to any of his other patients as they were being wheeled into surgery.

Amazingly, I did not even worry about what would happen to those left behind, because I instinctively knew that the same arms that held me so securely would also hold them close.  Unlike Mary Neal, I did not die and go to heaven, but after a few weeks of recovery, I thought to myself, "I guess I'm not going to die; I'd better figure out what else I'm going to do."

Corrie Ten Boom reportedly said, "I hope that I never lose the sense of the nearness of God that was with me throughout my experience in the concentration camp."  When I tell you that this is not an "idea" or a "doctrine," but a physical sensation, I hope you believe me.  "God is close to the broken-hearted, and those downcast in spirit, He saves."  Even before I had had time to hear bad news or become downcast in spirit, He went before me with His shield and His protective peace:  "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me.....Your rod and your staff, they give me comfort....You prepare a table for me in the presence of mine enemies." 

Jesus Calling for Feb. 12 says this:  My Spirit, who lives in you, helps you to think My thoughts.  As your thinking goes, so goes your entire being.

I am convinced that our healing lies in the comforting arms of God, Who embraces us when life threatens to overwhelm and destroy us.  It was not that I was thinking beautiful or "positive" thoughts throughout my bout with cancer; I was thinking practically nothing at all --- just as I imagine a baby being held by his mother is not thinking his way into peace, but just resting securely and peacefully in her strong and protective arms.